I don’t know where that leaves us other than to keep doing what we’re doing. Because short of finding the real killer, there is nothing I can do or say to take any of this away from Cora or make it better for her. So that’s what I’m going to try to do. I hope the letter I sent to Beau will make a difference. Cora wouldn’t like what I wrote. I basically called Beau out. He should know enough about his sister to know that she won’t give up until he’s freed. By putting her off he’s just prolonging her pain. What I didn’t say is that I will never have a chance with Cora as long as her brother sits in prison.

This is a truth that tears me up. It’s a near physical ache for something I don’t have a chance of ever having. If she didn’t like me—okay. I could live with that. Possibly. But she does like me. Maybe not as much as I like her. Aaargh. Definitely not as much as I like her. Freeing Beau is her life. There is no room for me or anyone else in that life. I thought there could be for the barest of seconds. I saw a flash of it in her smile in the car the other day when we kissed until she remembered she isn’t supposed to smile.

She isn’t supposed to have a life her brother can’t.

I don’t know how to get around that or if I should even try. Time she would spend with me on a date is time she’s not working to free Beau. There’s no way for me or anyone else to compete with that. It’s just there, always between us. The grief radiates out of her, bleeding into the air around her. I breathe it in and it coats my skin until I can’t separate myself from her or it. I’ve absorbed so much of it now I wonder if I’ll ever be rid of it or even if I want to be.

So I plod along beside her, giving her what I can and working my ass off to find a clue that will end this nightmare for her.

A week later I finally have something that might help, if only for a moment. Beau has agreed to meet with me. I debate whether or not I should tell Cora before or after I meet with him…but for only a second.

No matter how early I wake up, Cora always manages to get to the office before me. I set her tea next to her and take my seat across from her. She goes through her usual routine with it. I’ve come to depend on moments like this with her. They’re as necessary to me as breathing.

It’s Saturday, so we’re the only ones in the office. Dad gave Cora a key a week ago, after Savannah complained about Cora sitting on the steps, waiting for her to open up. It’s quiet except for the hum of the fax machine spitting something out. I’m supposed to run my daily Internet search for Edith Wheeler, the downstairs neighbor, to see if she suddenly pops up out of nowhere. Instead, I’m waiting for the perfect moment to tell Cora about Beau.

She glances up from her cup. “What?” She knows something’s going on.

“I’m going out to the prison today to visit Beau. Do you want to go with me?”

She freezes, staring at me like she can’t process what I just said. Everything stills in me, waiting for her reaction.

“He agreed to talk to you?” Anger is not the emotion I expected. “How in the hell did you get him to agree to that?”

I should know better by now than to try to predict Cora. “I guess I wrote a persuasive enough argument.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “What did you say to him?”

I should come clean, but I can’t. What I said to Beau is between him and me. “I told him that you’re just going to keep bugging him until he relents. He relented. Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“Why should I be happy about it?”

“You were mad at him when he wouldn’t cooperate. Now he is and you’re still mad?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess I’m mad that he gave in so easily to you when he’s been so damn stubborn with me.”

“But this is a good thing.”

“Maybe. Just because he agreed to see you doesn’t mean he’ll talk to you.”

“Leave it to me. Do you want to ride out there with me or not?”

Her gaze shifts to her computer screen, then back to me. I can tell she’s debating how her time would be best served—riding in a car or working on finding Edith Wheeler.

“I’ll go with you.” She checks the time on her phone. “We should leave within the next twenty minutes.”

The drive is long and boring, but I’m holding Cora’s hand and she’s letting me. So there’s that. I have in mind what I want to say to Beau and the things I want to ask him. I’m not sure how it will go. I’m pissed as hell at him on Cora’s behalf. It’s an irrational anger, I know. And while Cora shoulders some of the responsibility for putting Beau’s life before her own, I put the bulk of it on Beau’s head. He hasn’t cooperated at all. My line of thought is that Cora might have been able to free him before now if he’d only fucking participated.

It’s strange to never have met someone who I know so much about. Beau and I have Cora in common, but not much else. His life took a turn I can’t fathom. I’m not sure what to say about that when I see him. What do you say?

Cora gave me the drill on prison security, so before I know it I’m through screening and walking into the visitors’ room of the prison. It takes me a minute to spot Beau. He doesn’t look like any of the pictures Cora showed me. He’s bigger, bulkier. His hair is short and he scowls as if he’ll hit anyone who dares to look in his direction, let alone talk to him. I see now what has Cora so frightened and why she stormed into my dad’s office that day the way she did. The prison is a cancer and Beau’s riddled with it. She’s not just fighting for the brother she knew, she’s fighting for his life.

I take my seat opposite him and sit still for his inspection. I don’t flinch at his stare. I take him head-on.

“You have balls,” he says.

“Yep. Two.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop jerking Cora around.”

He puts an arm on the table and leans in. “What the fuck is it to you?”

I mirror his posture. “Why don’t you give her what she wants?”

“I told her a thousand times to forget about me and get on with her life.”

“And how has that worked out for you so far?”

He makes a rude noise.

“You should know Cora better than anyone,” I press. “She’s not ever going to give up. So stop fucking jerking her around and tell her what she wants to know.”

“What’s the point?”

“Have you seen her files on your case?” I forge on, despite his stony silence. “I have. She has a whole damn box full of them. For the past five and a half years she’s done nothing with her life except fight for you. What have you done for her?”

“What am I supposed to do from here?” He sweeps his arms out wide. If I thought Cora carried around too much anger, it’s nothing compared to the rage that pumps off Beau. I can taste it at the back of my throat and feel it pushing at my skin.

“You’re a coward.”

Cold blue eyes that are nothing like Cora’s stare back at me. And yet the resemblance is there. Like a faded photo over a faded photo, there’s a washed-out sameness that bends my sympathy toward him. But I can’t show him that. I have to match his attitude, blank stare for blank stare.

“What do you want to know?” he finally says.

I don’t dare let out the breath I’ve been holding and go right for the jugular. “Why did you and Cassandra break up?”

There’s more fury-filled silence and then he leans in again. “That has nothing to do with what happened to her.”

“You don’t know that. There could be something in there. Or not. But I have to think that your reluctance to talk about it could be the thing the real killer is counting on.”

“I broke up with her.”

“Why?”

He does that thing with his hand that Cora does when she’s agitated—tapping the tips of his fingers on the tabletop, pinkie to index finger, pinkie to index finger, like a wave. “I’m going to say this so Cora will finally let it go, but you have to promise me you won’t tell her or anyone.”